


crimson

by faeryyring



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Canon Compliant, M/M, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:42:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27254377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeryyring/pseuds/faeryyring
Summary: The story of how Achilles and Patroclus met again in the underworld.
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus (Song of Achilles)
Kudos: 31





	crimson

**Author's Note:**

> In ancient greek lore, the people who entered the underworld were obligated to drink from River Lethe, the river of forgetfulness. Doing that, they would lose all memories they had from their time on Earth. That is something that has been in my mind since I read the end of the book, and it made me think that it wasn't that much of a happy ending, as much as I would like it to be.

He looked beautiful like that, lost within the wheat of the Elysian Fields. The sky was gray and the world seemed to rot, but he was like a ray of light amid it all. Always had been.

The boy was on the other side of the field. His blond locks waved in the wind, and he wore an expression that Patroclus didn't know what to make of. He thought the boy's hair made it look like he was wearing a crown of fire, and that description seemed to suit him well. If he really was royalty, maybe that would explain why Patroclus felt so inexplicably attracted to him, like moths are attracted to light. He took a few steps, and the boy looked at him with clever eyes. _Get closer,_ he seemed to say, as if challenging him.

Then Patroclus did came closer, and even closer than that. So close that he could see that the boy's eyes were the color of a long forgotten blue and his lips were red like if stained with wine. And he knew he wanted to kiss him, but he didn't know why.

He felt much, but his feelings made no sense. It all felt like shouting into the void and having Echo as the only one to answer, like looking at a disfigured image at the bottom of a lake. There was something to be said, but all that could possibly be understood was only a ghost of what it should be. And he felt hatred running through him, as he looked right at that ghost who he wanted to kiss and destroy and rebuild all over again.

Patroclus was drowning in meaningless words and meaningless questions. Who are you? Why are you here? _Why do I feel this way?_

He noticed that the boy was holding figs between his fingers, which were thin and full of calluses. He remembered the sweet taste of figs in his mouth, and he remembered holding those fingers very tightly, in a time so blurry he couldn't even try to name. He had held the boy's hands as if saying, _Please, don't leave me._ They had touched like that in a summer night inside a crystal cave, when they were young and they could be anything they wanted. And he had felt the boy's fingers on his shoulders, on his waist, on his mouth, and all over him since. Many, many times.

He remembered screaming and being screamed at, and pleas for forgiveness that came right after those, and despair and spears. It all smelled of blood. And he knew that this was an important person: he had to be. He could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; he would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. He would know him in death, at the end of the world.

_Achilles._

Tears streamed down his eyes like a waterfall. He saw the boy as if behind blurry lens, but that would do for now; he could see what mattered. Achilles. Most beloved.

But the tears seemed to frighten the blond boy, because he was slowly moving away, as if Patroclus was a beast that he needed to calm down, as if he would open him up with his teeth otherwise. Patroclus held his hand out to him, but Achilles pulled it away. It hurt. There was confusion in his eyes, _fear_ , and he did a gesture as if preparing himself to run as fast as he could. And Patroclus knew he would never catch him again if that did happen.

" _Please_ ," Patroclus said. "We've suffered enough."

But Achilles was clearly uncomfortable, scared even. He had woken up in that field one day and he felt like something had been taken away from him, like there was a part of him missing. Like he wasn't his own person. How alone that had been, everything blurred and his heart broken in two. And now there was this strange boy, with warm eyes as bright as the stars in the sky, that made him feel things he didn't enjoy, made him feel like he could lose himself in those eyes. And so he looked straight into them, because he had always loved playing with fire, and disappeared again into the wheat fields, the color of his hair blending with the vegetation. He run and run and run, as fast as the wind. He wouldn't be found again.

And pain came all over Patroclus, like his old scars were being opened up with a sharp blade. He thought that death had been a world so gray, but Achilles painted it crimson.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading until here! I hope you enjoyed my work. Comments and construtive criticism are always appreciated.


End file.
